


Confessions

by AliceLunaWinchester



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Auror Training, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-War, coming to terms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7548178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceLunaWinchester/pseuds/AliceLunaWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter was the hero of The Battle of Hogwarts. But all is not well in the hero's life, post war. He is at crossroads- to live with dignity or to live with love? Will his one decision snatch away all that he had got in the last few years? Can he survive, live, and love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: Firstly, this is my first Harry Potter fanfiction, so please be kind. Constructive criticism is always welcome.  
> Secondly, a big shout out to my betas soulscarcity and hmweasley for their help. It is soo much better now, for your valuable inputs and suggestions and encouragement. Thanks to my friends WG(you have been ever so amazing), RR and AD.  
> So, here we go. And, please please read and review.  
> ^_^

Chapter One

*Two years after the war (Christmas)*

By anyone's standards, the Burrow was as homely a place as it had ever been. The scent of Molly Weasley's cooking–roast beef and vegetables, warm cider, all flavoured by motherly love–wafted through the air and wrapped the world in warmth. Like a big, woolly blanket made out of food and affection.

The Weasleys, their respective spouses, and the 'honorary' Weasleys had gathered there for a Christmas feast, as they did annually. In years prior, Harry Potter had enjoyed these meals. To gorge oneself within the company of one's best friends, illegitimate family, and ex-girlfriend? It was more than Harry would ever have dared dream of as a child. The moments spent in said company had been unimaginable to his nine-year-old self, who had spent most of his holidays in his 'room' under the stairs and most of the 'family' gatherings upstairs in the attic, pretending not to exist. The food left out for him had been meagre portions of leftover bread.

He gratefully bit into a cracker as Teddy pulled Victoire's blonde locks, evoking another bout of wails. He would not have traded anything for these days. He steeled his resolve and tried, quite unsuccessfully, to convince himself that everything would be perfect.

But nothing was perfect.

"But what's wrong with me? Did I do something?" Ginny muttered to him, her fists clenched on either side of her plate. Her food was untouched. Harry wanted to throw up or run away. Or both. Harry forced his gaze onto her face, and he saw that her eyes were damp. Ginny stared back, her nose scrunched up, her face flushed with the effort to keep quiet. Harry noticed how beautiful the freckles on her nose looked against her milky skin. And in that moment, he wished that things were different and everything was normal again. "Where did we go wrong? Harry, you need to tell me… I still love you." Harry did not reply. He could not.

Why? Why, why, why didn't he save this for after the meal? Harry gulped. Although Ginny was very obviously trying to keep her voice down, to keep herself from causing a scene, her family had caught onto the tension between her and Harry. They watched on concernedly, awkwardly. Only Ron and Hermione–the only ones who were privy to Harry's "little secret"-looked on with sympathy.

Ron, the capital fellow that he was, tried feebly for a distraction..."The weirdest customer came in yesterday asking for..."

Harry whispered to Ginny, feeling as if he were under a spotlight. "Not here, Gin," he said quietly. "Please, can't we talk about this in, y'know, private?" he almost-pleased, nearly begging by this point.

Ginny began to pick at her food, hands trembling, as tears started welling up in her eyes. Harry forced himself to eat. He observed a little frown on his ex-fiance's mouth and wondered helplessly if she planned to make that expression for the rest of the meal. Most likely. Ginny wasn't the sort of person to do things halfway.

Sometimes that got tiring…

The Weasleys attempted to make normal conversation. So they ignored the telltale signs of a relationship falling apart and talked about Bathilda Bagshot's granddaughter who had recently joined the Department of Muggle and Magical Cooperation. Harry looked at Hermione and found her staring back with her big, brown eyes filled with concern. Of all that the magical world had given him, he realized that he appreciated Hermione the most.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Flashback  
*a few months after the war*

"Harry?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Can't we try, Harry, please... What went wrong? We were fine, weren't we? We can make this work, can't we Harry? I love you. And I know you love me too..."said Ginny as she sat beside him in the backyard, the wind dancing through her fiery red mane.

"Gin, I am so sorry. But, you have got to understand me. I need to fix myself first. It's like, I don't have a direction anymore, I have to pull myself up, and I need to do that myself."

"Let me help you Harry. I... you don't have to do this alone. I'm here.  
I'll be here. Please. You know what, let's go somewhere for vacation," she said at length, and at Harry's semi-perplexed expression, she went on, "Come on, it'll be fun, won't it? Just the two of us... I saw this poster on my way home the other day. Romantic Getaway to Bali, it said. Muggle thing, but that won't be a problem. We can work this out, I know we can."

Harry still looked unconvinced. Ginny scooted closer. "Just imagine, Harry–just the two of us, away from all these godforsaken funerals and trials... A whole week to ourselves without worrying about who else needs a testimony or who succumbed to their injuries..." She was unable to keep the wistfulness out of her voice.

Harry sighed and then turned his face to Ginny's. He carefully studied her pale face and bright eyes, and finally said, "I don't think I can do that yet. You know, Gin, they need me." Ginny frowned at this, and Harry quickly elaborated, "I mean, those people died because I wasn't fast enough. I think the least I can do is honour the reason they died. Or even testifying... Those bastards need to be in Azkaban as soon as possible, right? Don't you think?"

"No, Harry, I don't. Forgive me, but sometimes I like to think about my own self as well," Ginny said, a resentful tone making a guest appearance. "Don't you ever just want to have fun? Can't we at least try to have fun and make the best out of it?" She sounded as if she was trying to cajole a brick wall.

"Fun?" scoffed Harry, straightening up and turning away from his girlfriend. "Bollocks, are you? We just had a war, Gin. People died, our loved ones being a few of them. Hogwarts, the only place that was ever mine, is in shambles. The war changed all of us, Gin. And this entire thing has been the only part of my life which had been constant, however twisted that sounds. I don't even know what to do next or who I am or even what people expect me to do... And as far as I have figured things out, I need to be here, beside them." Harry finished, deflated.

Ginny scooted towards Harry and gripped his shoulders. With tears threatening to fall, she said, "So, we just sit here and wallow in self pity? That's how we get better? You don't think I know what we lost? What we had to do to survive? But can we not try and make the best out of this hell of a situation? I need you too, Harry, I want you to be there for me as well. Can't you do that?" The desperate lilt in her voice made Harry want to turn around a hug her, but something kept him frozen.

"I am here, Ginny, but this is the best I can do now," Harry retorted, jaw stiff. "I need some time. I can't pretend to be happy when I'm not. I can't pretend to enjoy a vacation, which I know I won't. In a few months, maybe yes. But now, it doesn't feel right. Ginny I can't do this. Us, I mean. " His pleading tone was higher than usual, giving the perfect cue to his girlfriend's tears.

Reflexively, Harry turned to comfort her, but Ginny was already angrily brushing her tears away.

"It shouldn't always be about you," Ginny said, darkly and defeated, intermittent sobs making appearances. She finally lay her head, against Harry's shoulders "I can't allow those nightmares to get to me–I need happy memories, Harry, don't you see? I want to cope by doing something that will make me happy. And you broke up with me because you thought I couldn't face a war. Guess what, Harry, didn't work. We were all pawns, and you have no idea, how bad it was. I don't want to feel that way anymore, and you have to help me Harry."

"Ginny, please. Please don't do this. I am here," Harry said, putting his arms around her, tightly. "Right here. But, I can't handle a relationship now."  
"So this is it?" Ginny asked her voice barely audible.  
"I am so sorry, Gin. I am. But, I have to fix myself. I am sorry."

A long silence followed, punctuated by the wind, and the birdcalls. Nature in all her glory, absolutely refused to sympathize with the turmoil going through the minds of the two heroes, and they sat, huddled together, on the porch.  
"Harry?" Ginny said, some time later, a resolve clear in her voice. "Promise me, you'll look after yourself. And, you'll tell me if you need my help. I still don't believe you, but, it's okay if you need some time."  
"Thanks. I promise. Friends?"  
"For now."

As a cold shiver ran down his spine, Harry found himself wishing for some kind of normalcy. One not scarred by blood, death, and doom.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

*two years after the war (Christmas) continued*

Harry plunged his hands deep in his pockets, trying without success to fend off the December chill. It was a feat made even more difficult by the half-foot of snow on the ground that swallowed his feet and bit straight through his shoes and into his skin.

Across from him stood Ginny, who–in the privacy of the outdoors–could vocalize her concerns. And vocalize them she did.

Loudly.

"Are you seeing someone else, Harry?" she questioned, the words tumbling out of her mouth like vomit. Before he could answer, more came, each sentence being spoken with increasing hysteria. "Are you in love with someone else? Please tell me the truth. You owe me at least that much, don't you? Tell me!" Ginny's posture was stiff and her voice sounded as if she were about to burst into tears.

It was like knives in Harry's chest, seeing her this way. He took a deep breath and admitted, "Yes." His voice was small, almost guilty, and he couldn't help but wince at how meek he sounded.

There was a sharp intake of breath. Ginny made fists, set her jaw, apparently steeling herself for the answer to her next question. She asked very deliberately, "Who is she, Harry?"

Harry gulped, blood rushing to his face and surely turning him scarlet. "About that, Gin, look–I mean, listen..."

"Who is she, Harry?" reiterated Ginny, her words now sounding much stronger. And much more pissed. Her eyes were suddenly ablaze. You didn't have to be a Legilimens to see that she had to know.

Harry figured the only answer was the truthful answer. It had to be said. "They're not a she–they're a he. I'm gay, and I'm in l-love with, err, dammit..." Harry was unexpectedly stumbling over his own tongue. The awkwardness of this confession bit deeper than the cold of the snow on the ground, but he forced himself to keep going. Ginny had to know, and he had to say it. "I'm in love with Draco Malfoy."

The resounding laugh made Harry both hurt and bewildered. Laugh? How could Ginny laugh at this?

Seeing his expression, Ginny realized Harry was being serious. Her eyes widened, and she let out a little gasp, as if the very notion of Harry Potter falling for Draco Malfoy was incomprehensible–if not, offensive. She seemed to fumble with herself, mumbling something akin to, "I'm sorry," before bolting back to the Burrow.

Harry watched her go with a funny feeling in his stomach. A nearby chicken tilted its head to one side, and Harry scowled at it. "The hell are you looking at?" he muttered to it.

As Harry trudged towards the Burrow, Ron gave a reassuring smile from his seat on the porch. He had two bottles of butterbeer on hand and handed one to Harry as the Boy-Who-Lived sat down beside him. "Hey, mate. That went better than I expected," said Ron in a lighthearted tone. He took a sip of butterbeer and continued, "At least both of ya are alive and whole."

Harry had other things on his mind. "Ron, what if the rest of your family doesn't accept me either?"

Ron gave him a light slap over the back of the head. "Hello, did you meet Dorin? Capital fellow, happens to be my brother's boyfriend. And Ginny just needs time, relax," Ron insisted.

"I mean Draco and me. Specifically," grumbled Harry before taking a swig of butterbeer. He wondered idly if Molly still hid the Firewhiskey in the cupboard under the clock.

Ron gave a small scoff. "I'm Ron Weasley, and I'm chummy with him. Trust me: my family's a lot more lenient than you seem to believe. Bill doesn't really care who you end up with, so long as you're happy. Dad, Charlie, and George would be thrilled," he said, gesturing a bit with his bottle as he spoke. "Mum will probably need some time, but she'll come around. Ginny will too."

"Dammit, I'll tell them today. I really want to get this over with."

"Yeah. Okay. 'Mione and I will pitch in the good stories about our little get-togethers," Ron said a bit distractedly. He clapped Harry on the back. "Don't worry, it'll be fine," he finished with a little wink.

Harry couldn't help but smile as he recalled their Friday dinners, the ones that Draco often attended. Of course Ron had been skeptical at first, but after the first dinner, he'd grudgingly accepted that Draco had really changed since the days of their adolescence at Hogwarts. Ron had then concluded that he "would not mind" having him over more often.

Although, Ron did once get scarred for life when he barged into Harry's room unannounced late one evening, looking to borrow a quill. Despite swearing vehemently never to permit Draco within the premises again, his resolve crumbled after a few awkward apologies and a peace offering of Firewhiskey the following week.

Hermione had thanked Draco for "finally making him see the importance of knocking" by giving him the largest serving of the aforementioned peace offering.

Ronald Weasley had gauged his family's reactions to the tooth.

Bill just asked in a grave voice, "Is that what you truly want? Does he make you happy?"

Harry smiled a bit, knowing that it would be alright, and replied, "Yeah. He makes me happier than I should permitted to be."

Bill's face split into a wide grin. "Well, in that case, you have my congratulations." He added hastily, "Don't worry, Ginny'll be fine."

At Harry's confession, George only laughed and said, "I bet Fred's having an elaborate party right now."

Harry's gut twisted. "Um, why exactly?" Harry asked, apprehensive of the answer. Fred and George's causes for celebration were not always sane. In fact, nine times out of ten, they were particularly insane.

George gave a wee snort. "Why, he's the one who first pointed out the palpable sexual tension that you and that Malfoy spawn shared in your fifth year..." At this, Bill punched him in the arm, and George fell on the floor and began accusing Bill of attempted homicide in dramatic detail. This was the background noise for the rest of the afternoon.

Ignoring George's spiel, Charlie smiled warmly and hugged Harry fiercely. While in his embrace, Charlie spoke in his ear. "This side of the pitch is very enjoyable," he whispered. "Welcome, Harry. Now I can see why you thought to get us that very useful gift. Thanks, man." When he pulled away, both men were grinning at the memory of Harry's Christmas gift to Charlie and Dorin–discreetly packaged lube.

Arthur cleared his voice at the other end of the table, and Harry turned his attention to Arthur. He seemed a bit less forthcoming than his sons, with his hands folded businesslike on the tabletop. "Draco Malfoy? Are you sure about this, Harry?" inquired Arthur, concern in his voice. "Malfoy as in your arch-nemesis Malfoy? Lucius Malfoy's son?"

Harry nodded without hesitation or doubt. "Yes, Mr. Weasley. Draco Malfoy. But trust me, he is nothing like his father. He got the mark because he had no other option," Harry explained. He continued earnestly, "I really like him. And you and Mrs. Weasley's opinions are the ones that matter most to me. Please, Mr. Weasley, he really has changed. I swear by the name of Merlin."

Arthur's face regained the mirthful glow Harry had grown accustomed to over the years. "I just want my sons to be happy. If he makes you happy, then, Harry, you have my blessings," said Arthur with finality.

Harry beamed. "Thanks, Mr. Weasley. That means a lot."

"Anytime, Harry," Arthur said, smiling and giving a little wink. It reminded Harry a lot of Ron. He quickly added, "But do remember that he still has to have that much-dreaded lunch with me. He can ask Dorin for pointers."

Dorin shuddered at the memory of the much-dreaded lunch, and Charlie struggled physically to stifle his laughter.

Harry turned his attention to Percy, but he didn't have much to say. Percy just muttered a halfhearted "Congratulations," and fled to the upstairs to write a letter.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

A Year and A Half after the War...

(A few weeks before Christmas)

The end of the war had left the bond between Harry, Ron, and Hermione sturdier than ever, and there was no questioning that they would still all be best of friends when they died, but that didn't mean that the Golden Trio didn't lead different lives. Of course not–it wasn't like they were in school anymore.

Hermione, her enthusiasm for SPEW undaunted, had gone on to work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as an intern. She was steadily climbing the ranks, leaving the five other witches and wizards whom had joined with her in the dust.

Harry and Ron had, appropriately so, begun training to be Aurors. Ron, however, had only lasted a few months–not for lack of skill but out of concern for George. Ron had left Auror training to drag George's arse back to the joke shop. They had to get the twins' little business back on track, after all.

Harry had persisted in his Auror career. Before he'd gone into the funnyman business, Ron had acted as Harry's partner, and once he'd left, Harry was like a coin without his other half. So, Harry had been reluctantly assigned Draco Malfoy for a partner. At first, there had been animosity between them rivaled only by the sheer hatred they'd spat at Hogwarts, though they soon found their cadence. They complemented each other, they found, and much better than any other of the seven pairs in training. Draco made up for Harry's lack of finesse, and Harry balanced out Draco's admittedly lacking magical prowess.

Once they'd pushed their petty school rivalry aside, the two had even grown friendly with one another. It was practically impossible to separate them–not that anyone in the Auror Department wanted to. Their record was pristine, so much so that it had already been decided that they'd remain partners after graduating training. An office with "Auror H. Potter" and "Auror D. Malfoy" emblazoned across the door had been made a certainty for them.

Anything else, until then, they'd refused to divulge.

That is, until Harry just couldn't wait any longer–as was his nature–and decided to tell Ron and Hermione all about it. What's bound to happen will happen anyway, he reassured himself.

The trio shared a modest home, where they would meet up and maintain the familiarity of their relationships on a near-nightly basis. Usually, dinner conversation consisted of Hermione going to extraordinary lengths to tell Ron all about how much better he would look if he wore less ill-fitting pants. That night, Harry had fixed things to be slightly more eventful.

"So, 'Mione said you wanted to say something? Wassup, mate?" Ron asked, sipping his butterbeer and eyeing his chicken quite possessively. As their home was, as mentioned earlier, modest, the three of them couldn't always be bothered to eat in the kitchen. They'd taken their food into the considerably less-cramped sitting room, as was their custom.

"Yeah, Harry, is something bothering you?" Hermione added in her most motherly tone.

"Umm, yeah," Harry began, wondering how exactly to phrase this. "So, there's, err, this thing that I wanted to confess. Err, so see here, the thing is, I mean, what I wanted to say is, that..."

Ron got tired of listening to Harry stammer. "Harry, mate, just spit it out: did you knock up a girl and need free babysitting?" Ron's eyes twinkled in a vaguely Dumbledore-esque sort of way.

Harry blushed furiously. "What? No—Merlin, no. It's just that, well... I'mkindagay." The words tumbled out of Harry's mouth with the grace of an angry rhinoceros with malformed limbs.

"What? Come again?" Ron said, his eyebrow cocked in a confused manner.

"You heard me right," Harry said through gritted teeth. His fists were clenched in his lap, and his palms were sweating. Did he really have to say it twice?

"No, Harry, we did not hear you at all. Repeat, please," Ron continued, waving his fork whilst he spoke. Hermione sat on the armrest of the sofa and kept on smirking.

Harry sighed. "I just said that, well, I -" He paused to take a deep breath. "Um, am-" Oh Merlin! "-gay."

"Oh, that. Tell us something new," drawled Ron, apparently having lost all interest in Harry's confession. He'd returned his full attention to his plate of delicious chicken.

Harry blinked, mouth dry, heart in his throat. "Ah, what? Wait, you knew? Oh." It felt anticlimactic. Harry almost felt cheated in a way. He'd heard plenty of heartfelt and dramatic coming-out stories. They'd involved tears, shouting, hugs, and understanding. Not just "tell us something new" and chicken.

"Is there something more you need to say, Harry?" Hermione asked, simultaneously swatting Ron's hand away from her own meal. Ron hissed at her and stole a few scraps of food from Harry's plate.

"Yeah, well," said Harry, remembering the other thing. "There's one other thing. I mean, I know this is most upsetting to you, positively disgusting, but I need to get this out." Maybe this would get him his dramatic coming-out story.

"Get it out, mate. You can't be pregnant, you know?" Harry, again, resisted the urge to slap Ron. Hermione did not.

"Ronald!" Hermione resorted to another swat, this time at his head.

"Oi! That was not necessary," Ron said indignantly, rubbing his noggin. He sighed. "Sorry. You were saying?"

"Yeah. Right. Er, I was saying that I'm, uh, kind of...dating, you know?" Harry said. He put his words together as carefully as he could. Admittedly, Harry found the idea of a tearful confession to his friends oddly fanciful. It had the potential to really add to their friendship when all was said and done. At the same time, Harry wasn't sure if he was emotionally prepared to deal with one of Ron's moods again.

"Well, who is it?" Ron said, feigning impatience.

"Draco," came a hardly audible reply.

Harry expected an outburst or at least a painstakingly long silence. What he got instead was a prompt and somewhat exasperated response from the resident ginger. "Um, mate, I think I asked you to tell us something new?"

Harry choked on his butterbeer. A few pats on the back later, he replied, "H-how in the name of Merlin's pants did you know that?" His voice cracked unexpectedly on the last few syllables, and he flushed.

"Mate, I have eyes," said Ron, rolling said eyes. "I can actually see when he comes home to drop you off or when you disappear for those night assignments and return with hickeys instead of scars. I don't always need 'Mione to put two and two together for me. Although, technically, it was her who discovered you kissing Malfoy all over the patio."

"Yo-you saw that...? But you weren't even home!" Harry nearly knocked his food onto the floor. Luckily, he didn't. Hermione would have taken his head for such an offense as she'd chosen the carpet herself.

"We weren't supposed to be, but we canceled," Hermione said with a wide smile. Her eyes glinted deviously.

"Rr-ight. Why didn't you tell me, and… and you're all okay with it?" Harry demanded, still befuddled. He supposed it wasn't fair of him to assume his friends would naturally be vastly more immature than him,especially considering Hermione's history of open-mindedness. But, still.

Ron, who was silently shaking with laughter over his mate's discomfort, composed himself and said, "Of course we knew, but we didn't say anything because we wanted you to tell us when you were comfortable with it." He continued grudgingly, "Yeah, it's true that I would rather you stick your tongue down someone else's throat, but if it has to be that ferret, then it has to be that ferret. It is evident that he's changed, or either of you would have resigned by now. And besides, it's time you did something because you just wanted to. If you think we put our lives at risk and fought a war with you only to disown you for being gay, then, blimey, you're just a git. A daft one."

"Harry, I am so happy for you," came a small, strangled voice, and Harry found himself with a facefull of bushy hair. Hermione was surprisingly strong for such a petite young woman. She lovingly choked the air straight out of Harry's lungs.

"Thanks," he whispered, a bit raspy due to Hermione's love-grip of certain demise, and Ron "oh, please'd" and went back to his food. Hermione just looked at him with a strange sort of expression that could have been packaged and sold as "pride." She released him almost hesitantly.

Harry cleared his throat. "So, we're in a relationship, but it's still casual and-"

"Oi! I said I was fine with it. Don't push it, mate," Ron interrupted, having shoved half of a chicken in his mouth by this point.

Harry chuckled and knew that everything would eventually be fine. And his ex-girlfriend and ex-to-be-mother-and-law would eventually be persuaded that there was, indeed, someone better than him for Ginny.

He, personally, was thinking of one Mr. Longbottom.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Flashback  
*a few months after the war*

The small Irish shack was in a dire state of disrepair, even for a structure that could be described as a "shack." That day, Harry and Draco were taking care of some field training. The shack was the current residence of a known Death Eater, and their task for the day was to capture them and return them alive and in one piece to the headquarters for further questioning and punishment. A trace had been placed on them to track their progress, and surrounding them, hidden from view or knowledge, were several rookie–but well-trained–Aurors, prepared to assist if necessary.

Based on Harry and Draco's record, it wouldn't be. And if anyone had bothered to ask the Auror in charge of monitoring the trainees back at the Ministry, he would have vehemently denied wholly ignoring their trace. That particular Auror was known for a long and petty history of fibs.

The duo entered the shack quietly, silent as shadows. It was dark, giving Harry the impression that no one was home. But they'd been stalking the Death Eater's movements for hours, so he knew that the shack was well-inhabited. Harry's spine shuddered as he felt himself pass over a ward. He could tell by the way Draco's neck twitched that he felt it too.

It was deathly quiet for all of six seconds.

Then the front door slammed shut, and suddenly, there was a spell flying at them.

Harry reacted quickly, casting a Protego wandlessly to deflect the oncoming stunner from the Death Eater. The spell rebounded and collided into a cabinet, successfully shattering all the glass in it and knocking everything else over. Draco's wand was out within a heartbeat, his cold gray eyes locked onto the Death Eater.

"Expelliarmus!" he cast, and Harry caught their adversary's wand mid-air.

The Death Eater turned to run, but he couldn't get more than two steps in such a small space. Poor planning on his part, Harry thought. Draco cast an Incarcerous, and the next thing they knew, the Death Eater was bound in ropes. He lost his balance and fell to the floor. Harry couldn't help but grin. It was almost comical, watching the Death Eater squirm on the floor. Like a fish out of water.

"That was easy, I suppose," Draco said at length, wand still aimed at their target.

He grinned when he said this, and Harry smirked back accordingly. Draco walked over and used his foot to push the Death Eater onto his back. The Death Eater's eyes were wide and blue and mad and bore holes into Draco.

The Death Eater spat, then laughed bitterly. He spoke next with unbridled vehemence. "You are no better."

Harry watched from the corner of his eye, not liking the way Draco tensed at those words. For a split second, he was afraid Draco was going to stomp on their adversary. But the blond controlled himself, so Harry deemed it safe to devote his full attention to dismantling the Death Eater's wards.

They returned to the Ministry of Magic victorious. It had been their most successful capture to date. Harry had gone to their office/record room to take care of the extensive paperwork which generally came along as a tedious part of any on-field mission. It was a room he shared with Draco and another pair of Auror trainees, but at the time, it was empty. Empty, that is, save for the desks, file cabinets, and all the Merlin-damned parchment.

After hours of leafing through the file cabinets, Harry's "people skills" finally manifested, and he noticed how conspicuous Draco's continued absence was. Normally, his partner at least hung around long enough to gloat about it being Harry's turn with paperwork. Harry shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it up far more than usual. He was done with his obligations here, and he didn't feel like waiting around for Draco when he could be procrastinating in the comfort of his own flat.

Maybe he would have liked to see Draco, but Harry told himself sternly that the blond was a grown-ass man. Also, he longed for the comfort of his own flat, so he began making his way to the loo. Harry's commute home was hardly the longest in the history of mankind, but he'd learned the hard way that it was a very foolish thing to try apparating with a full bladder.

Harry whistled loudly on his way there, as the building was practically empty at this time of night, but he ceased abruptly when he entered the washroom. He froze, dumbfounded by what he saw.

There, sitting against the sinks with his sleeves rolled up and red staining his clothes and arms, was Draco Malfoy. Dark, ugly marks marred his forearms, from whence blood oozed profusely. Crisscrossed cuts bit into his pale skin, not deep enough to kill him quickly but certainly deep enough to kill him eventually. His eyes were vacant, focused on something far away–oblivion, maybe–and his lips twitched as he mumbled incoherently at nothing and no one.

Harry's first reaction was panic. "What the-?" started Harry, but he suddenly regained the use of his legs. Before he knew it, he was at Draco's side. Close as he was, he could finally make out Draco's words:

"I am no better."

Harry's second reaction kicked in: battle instincts. He grabbed Draco by the arm, the one which had sustained fewer cuts, and wasted no time disapparating to his flat–may his bladder be damned.

Harry offered a silent thanks to whomever had legalized disapparation of registered Ministry officials from within their departments.

Harry appeared in his flat, and instantly began ushering Draco to the sofa. Simultaneously, he accio'd a vial of dittany. He caught it without looking and crouched by Draco, who now was slumped over, still bleeding, on the sofa.

Wordlessly, Harry applied the dittany to his friend's wounds. The only sound was Draco's shallow, laboured breaths, between which the murmured phrase could be made out: I am no better, I am no better. These words tumbled from his mouth with a fixation. Dittany done, he summoned a blood-replenishing potion and interrupted Draco's obsessive mumbling by forcing him to drink. Draco resisted, but Harry forced it down his throat.

Then Harry slapped him. Hard.

Draco flinched upon contact, eyes wide now in surprise rather than desolation. In a barely-audible whisper, he demanded to know, "Why the fuck did you save me? You have no right to save me, Potter."

Harry's back straightened, and he stood to his full, underwhelming height, arms folded over his chest. "I saved you because it isn't true: you're nothing like him. Any of them," answered Harry in a voice that brooked no argument. Draco looked up at him as if he were seeing Harry for the first time, and Harry looked back with steely eyes. A moment passed.

Harry continued in a softer tone, "You can stay the night. Ron and Hermione are at the Burrow for the weekend, so you should be able to get some rest. I'll get you a duvet."

When Harry awoke the next morning, Draco was gone without so much as a note. The only signs he'd ever been there were the neatly-folded duvet on the arm of the sofa and the small, splotchy stains of rusty-red on a throw pillow that onlookers would likely attribute to a nosebleed.

For some inexplicable reason, Harry had a gnawing feeling in his gut, worry, he realized, for the well-being of his partner. It wasn't as if Harry didn't have a long and colorful history of fussing over Draco, but it was usually out of suspicion. Not, like this time, out of pure concern. The revelation came as a bit of a shock to Harry, and to a certain extent it disturbed him. He told himself that it oughtn't.

After all, Draco was his partner. Of course he should be worried about his partner. It just would be so annoying and pointless to be assigned another random partner, anew, who he didn't already know how to work with. Right?

By the time Harry got to the Auror Office, he was precisely twelve minutes and forty-nine seconds behind schedule. Normally, he'd stop by his cubicle or the record room before class, but there was no time today. He rushed to class, eyes peeled for the white-blond hair of the pain-in-the-ass he called his colleague.

Harry got to class and heaved a physical sigh of relief when he saw that Draco was there, jaw set and attention focused fully–almost forcefully–on what the professor was saying. Harry situated himself in the back of the hall and tried to focus as intently upon the Observations professor as Draco.

"That was real mature of you, Malfoy," drawled Harry in his best impression of Malfoy as he caught up to him on the commute to dueling practice. "Running away like it was some one-night stand, real mature. I mean, it's not like you owe me your life or anything."

Draco snarled. "I don't want to talk about it, Potter," he said in a low voice, a bit of red rushing to his face. His posture was hunched, defensive, with his arms folded and his fists clenched.

"Like hell you don't want to." Harry said this a tad louder than he meant to, but no one else in the hall spared them a glance. They could recognize the duo from halfway to Morocco by their banter alone, and their fellow trainees were well used to them being, well, combative.

"Not here," pleaded Draco, forehead creasing. "I am really not in the mood to do this."

They walked in silence until they reached the door to the dueling grounds. The arched doorway was wide and open, and sunlight spilled in, sharply contrasting the mood. The two stood wordlessly for a moment before Draco finally took a deep breath and said, "You can't help me. Nobody can. I should have died."

Then, for the second time in under twenty-four hours, Draco received another slap to the face. He barely had time to bulge his eyes in shock before Harry had him hoisted into the air by his collar.

"Potter-" Draco began to object shrilly, but that was all he got out before Harry interrupted him.

"Don't you dare say that ever again; you are nothing like them," spat Harry, throwing his words forcefully at Draco. His eyes burned bright. He spoke not with the sternness and confidence he had the night before but as if the very notion that Draco was anything less than the definition of morality offended him.

To Harry, he was correcting a blasphemer for contradicting something that was known to be universally true.

He dropped Draco on the floor, and the blond watched with his mouth gaping as Harry Potter stormed off. Angry heels walked away without another word.

Lunch was an affair that Harry usually enjoyed with Draco and two other teams, but today he was alone. Unlike himself and Draco, the two pairs of trainees they usually ate with hadn't taken down their minor-league Death Eater as dexterously as they had. The four of them were presently lying in metal-frame beds at St Mungo's, one in particular being fed medication and nutrition paste through a tube in his anus while his oesophagus was magically reconstructed.

So Harry was eating alone at the typicallyshared table. He would have felt awkward if he hadn't spent the first ten years of his life in a cupboard without a friend in a world, but as it was, he was completely comfortable.

Draco came around and sat beside Harry without speaking. They ate in silence, and Draco stood up, looking a bit unsure. He dropped a small note on the table and left without saying goodbye. Harry watched him, discreetly but intensely. When he was out of sight, Harry scooped up the note and unfolded it.

Draco's moderately girly, loopy handwriting covered the paper:

It's just easier to write this than own up to it aloud. I need help. I need help really badly. And I know this is hard to believe, but I am sorry. Thank you for yesterday. Meet me in front of the Ministry after work, if you want to. I'll talk.

I know you are wondering whether this is me, Draco Malfoy, who hated you at school, or a polyjuiced somebody. It's me. Anyway. To lighten things, this wasn't supposed to be this sappy.

Thanks.

Harry refolded it carefully and put the note in his pocket.

Draco looked up as Harry approached, silhouetted against the setting sun.

Harry nodded to him once he was near. "Malfoy," he greeted simply.

Draco looked away and seemed to flinch as if the very sound of Harry's voice was harmful. Maybe he was just afraid he was going to get slapped in the face again. Whatever it was, he seemed to ignore it. "Potter," he responded. Awkwardly, he gestured down the road. "Would you like to walk?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't have a problem."

"Well then, let's go." Draco started off, and Harry followed, matching his pace.

Soon they were walking the streets of Muggle London, the back alleys and winding streets that were rarely used for anything other than drug deals and pissing on the wall. The gloom sympathized with their moods. After a while, Harry felt inclined to ask, "How's your arm?"

Draco rolled his eyes as if it were the stupidest question in the world. "Potter, you applied dittany. It's exactly how you left it last night. Don't worry–I didn't cut it again."

Harry raised one eyebrow at Draco as they rounded a corner out of an alley and onto a street that was dimly illuminated by streetlights. The orange light seemed to fend off the gloom, if only a little. "Did you want to?" asked Harry.

A bitter laugh sounded, and Draco tried to stifle it with his hand. "Yes, most certainly. When I found myself on your couch this morning–Merlin!" He gave Harry a shit-eating grin, but it was devoid of humour. "The cushions were insufferable."

The smile slipped off of Draco's face when he saw Harry's unimpressed expression. "I see what you're trying to do," Harry began, "but it's not helping. I'm positively pissed." He couldn't help but admire the irony of the situation: his distraught, suicidal partner was the one trying to lighten the mood.

"Thanks," Draco said quietly, with a little sigh. They meandered on in silence, feeling strangely comforted by one another's company. Harry found himself repeatedly glancing at Draco. He wasn't sure why–no explanation he came up with in his head made sense. Harry sort of just... wanted to make sure Draco was still there.

Or something.

They had gone quite a distance when Harry finally broke the silence. "I meant what I said earlier," began Harry, causing Draco to look him in the face. "You really are nothing like him, Malfoy. Nothing like him at all."

The resounding scoff echoed through the alley. "You think so?" The sarcasm and mockery in Draco's voice was unmistakable.

"I believe so," was Harry's simple reply.

Draco turned away abruptly, plunging his fists into his pockets and hunching over, dejected, pouting almost. It would have come off as childish if Harry hadn't known how important this was to Draco. And its importance to Draco made it important to Harry.

"That's easy for you to say. You're the Golden Boy of the war. Everybody loves you," Draco said darkly, borderline disgustedly. "I'm an abomination. Everybody hates my guts. Nobody ever believes me." He was bitter.

"I do. I believe you, Malfoy. It's those guts of yours that make you different."

Draco very obviously rolled his eyes and stopped walking so he could face Harry properly. The words flew from his mouth as if he'd been sitting on them for years. "We've been hating each other with a vengeance for the last seven years, and you believe me? That itself is a bit hard to believe. But even if I give you the benefit of the doubt, you're just a single person. Everyone else hates me." Here, Draco's voice cracked a bit, and he was nearly overcome with emotion.

But he pressed on. "Everyone else thinks I'm a hypocrite, and most of them want me dead. And all the whispers that follow me–all the calculated, evaluating looks... Merlin, I'm so tired of that," he rambled fervently. "What I can't tell them is that I wasn't given another option. I could have become the most cruel and absolute worst example of a wizard to save my mother. I would do anything for her. You don't know how difficult it was to shield my feelings." Draco paced and spoke with his hands as if he wasn't sure what to do with his body. "Occlumency of the most advanced kind was useless before the Dark Lord. You don't know how hard it was, Potter. You have no idea. The nightmares, the life that I live now, it just makes me so tired."

And he sounded tired. Draco had reached the end of his spiel, and it had left him empty and exhausted. Harry chewed his lower lip, wondering what he could possibly say to console his partner.

He decided to go with the truth. "I have nightmares, too," admitted Harry, unsure of whether it would actually help Draco in any way. Even if it didn't, it would help Harry certainly.

The blond cocked an eyebrow. "You?"

Harry smiled a little smile, noticing the self-loathing ease out of Draco's features, if only a bit. "Yes. It's a wonder how any of us catch any sleep at all. Ron has woken me up from nightmares countless times, and me him," Harry ventured on. "And then there's the guilt and the regret. So many people died. So many souls, most of whom I didn't even know. So many people who didn't deserve to die. And the guilt of laughing, of enjoying myself every once in a while..." Harry shook his head. "Half the people I've ever cared about are dead because we couldn't be faster. They call me the saviour, and look at the death toll. It mocks me, taunts me, and wrecks me with regret."

Harry's voice grew heavy, and his shoulders slumped as if dwelling upon this made gravity single him out.

A beat passed and Draco said, "Merlin, I never imagined being a hero could be so hard." His sarcasm was evident, and Harry could tell that Draco was trying to lighten the mood again. They both smiled a little despite themselves.

Harry gave a humourless chortle and continued, "I'm no hero. I would be nothing without the help that I got from my friends. Nothing. And that's the hardest part: pretending to be someone I'm not." At Draco's curious expression, Harry added, "Putting up a facade every day, so that those who died could at least die for a more noble cause, instead of a nobody. There were so many that I couldn't save."

"But you saved so many more."

"And you saved me, Malfoy," Harry said with a content kind of certainty. A beat passed. Then another. And then Harry realized he'd said that aloud, and his face turned tomato-red. He chided himself ruthlessly and told himself–quite sternly–to shut up.

Yet Draco didn't seem to mind the comment, and they kept on walking down the gloomy alleys of London in a comfortable silence, each aware of the fact that this was going to last.

Innumerable walks, fourteen assignments, four months, three proposals, and a lot of indecision later, they were finally in a relationship.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

 

*a day before Draco meets Harry's Family.*

"Hey, come on. It'll all be just fine. They're good people," Harry whined in a vain attempt to reassure Draco, who had been pacing restlessly around the room for a solid six minutes. He was mentally preparing himself for their visit to the Burrow next day. A simple meal oughtn't to be a stressful affair for anyone, but Draco seemed quite adamant about not only making himself worry but making Harry feel jittery about it as well.

Draco, darn-near hysterics, paused in the middle of the bedroom rug and barked out bitter laughter. "Huh! Easy for you to say," said Draco. "Last time I checked, they still worshiped the ground you walked on..."

Harry rolled his eyes, leaning back in bed as he speculated about the twisted logic that Draco governed his whole life by. He decided that the inside of Draco's head was a scary, scary place.

Contrary to his exasperated musings, Harry's voice was almost conversational. "Oh damn. You're not going to sleep at all tonight, are you?"

"No," was Draco's curt and prompt reply.

Harry gave Draco a shit-eating grin and said, "Well, see, Drake, I can think of about seventeen different ways–off the top of my head–to spend the night in a better way..."

Draco sighed, loud and dramatic, and tugged at his hair. "Harry Potter, you can lie there without a single stitch of clothing, but I am not having sex tonight," he insisted, making each of his words very clear.

Harry's grin widened and got wider still when he saw how it infuriated Draco. "You're sure, are you? I've been told that I'm very good. And if I'm not wrong, I quote," here he pitched his voice upwards a few octaves, "'dammit, that stuff that we just did will be the death of me. Oh fuck. That was the most phenomenal sex I have ev-pffhmp'!" Harry was abruptly cut off when a pillow came down on his face, accompanied by a shrill objection on Draco's behalf.

"I do not sound like that," hissed Draco, furiously red in the face. Harry chortled, but his laughter died when he noticed that Draco had gone quiet. And he wasn't trying to bludgeon him with goose feathers anymore, so that didn't bode well.

"Harry, what if they don't like me?" asked Draco in a rather small voice. He scowled at himself. "Merlin, I sound like such a wuss." He flopped in a dejected and distinctly un-Malfoy-like manner at the end of the bed, sprawling in desolation.

"They do like you, especially Ron and 'Mione," Harry insisted, "and George and Charlie."

Draco looked up sharply. "Wait, why do George and Charlie like me?" he demanded.

A light smile graced Harry's face, and he absently ran his fingers through Draco's fine hair. "Aah, scavenging for compliments, are we?" he cooed.

The resounding glare could have been felt miles away. "I'm serious, Potter," said Draco through gritted teeth.

Harry hummed a bit, then explained, "Well, George and I, we saw you at Fred's funeral."

Draco's eyes widened, and he propped himself up a bit on his elbows. "Wha-what? No. No. Really?" Draco said, his expression alone begging for elaboration.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Contributed a lot to our relationship, that did. And Charlie likes you, or rather, Charlie likes us mostly because we're gay," Harry explained halfheartedly. "Anyway, the rest of them, they don't particularly like you, per se. Your task tomorrow is to make them see the person I do everyday. Just be you, and it will be fine. I swear on Merlin. Come on, Draco, let's go to sleep… Tomorrow's a big day. Come on, Blondie."

Harry patted the bed beside him, willing Draco to lay there. His expression could have been seen as odd, but the blond had seen it enough to identify it as what it truly was–sensual.

The look and the name earned Harry a half-glare-half-smile, which–though appreciated–clearly spelled a hell of a lot of trouble for Harry if the nickname ever went public.

Draco climbed without complaint into Harry's arms before muttering a quick charm to dim the lights. Harry looked down at him and marvelled at the situation. It had him awestruck every time. For the millionth time, he wondered: was he living or dreaming?

"What if it's not okay?" Draco whispered, panic gripping his voice and causing him to tense in Harry's embrace. He was blatantly terrified of not being accepted. It was a whisper of a man, broken by life, insecure about the only thing that mattered to him anymore.

Harry heard the barely audible premonition and felt an odd sort of pang in the vicinity of his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, reflexively assessing the feeling, and said in the softest and most un-Potterish voice that he could manage, "Hey. Hey. Listen to me. I'm not saying that they will forget everything that has happened. I'm not saying that they will accept you with open arms. They very well may, they very well may not." Draco looked up, eyes glistening.

Harry pressed on without hesitation. "But I know for a fact that they will try their best. They love me, and they want me to be happy. And in case you didn't notice, you make me happy. I swear to be there, whatever happens. Be yourself, and it will be fine. I love you, Drake, and I swear that it'll be fine," said Harry in a voice completely void of uncertainty.

Draco gave shaky sigh. "How in Merlin can you–wait," the blond cut himself off. He locked eyes with Harry and asked, "What did you just say?"

"Took you long enough to figure that one out, Blondie," Harry said, laughter in his voice and exuberance evident, even in the dark.

"Did you say-?"

"Yes, I said I love you, Draco Malfoy," Harry started, "and I have for quite a few months now. You may be the first one to say it, but I just knocked the ball out of the park with my sense of timing. Ah, stop gaping, and kiss me al-ngmph!"

Harry was happily interrupted as Draco's lips crashed into his, and they lost themselves in the overflow of sensations. Their bodies and feelings yearned for the familiarity and comfort of each other, sleep and the 'big day tomorrow' forgotten by the bedside.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: A huge thanks to all of you! And, once more to my betas and WG; you know how much you have contributed to this story. Thanks.
> 
>  
> 
> And, finally, no copyright violations were intended. Nothing belongs to me.

*Epilogue*

Harry poked his head into the fire, as he dialed for their office's fireplace, in the hope of catching Draco buried under a truckload of paperwork, which quite uncharacteristically he had been putting off. But, to his utter dismay, as he surveyed their office through the fire, the truckload of paperwork was there on the magically enhanced filing cabinet (a gift from Hermione on their promotion) and on their tables, but Draco Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Harry, sighing, withdrew from the fire and resigned himself to dispatch the message through the dramatic means of a patronus. He retrieved his wand from the wand-holster, cast the incantation, and the elegant stag erupted from the tip of his wand, in all his silver glory. Still quite fascinated by the beauty of his stag, he also remembered how breathtaking Draco's Arctic fox is, and how elegant their pair is. The first time Draco had cast it was in the later parts of training, the fox erupting at first in wisps of silver smoke, and then, slowly evolving into a true corporeal one. "Harry, I had a happy memory, I recalled that moment when I was selected for the Auror Corps and the moment we were assigned as partners..." Draco had excitedly spilled, after the completion of that day's training. "So, long time crush, eh Drake?" Harry had countered, immediately, with a mad grin on his face, only to be smacked right on the shoulders, along with a "Oh shut up, you prat!"  
Harry smiled at the memory, mentally slapped himself for getting all sappy, and finally cursed himself for getting even more late.

"Hey, I'll be at St. Mungo's; get that hot arse there the moment you return. Neville is probably more tensed about it that Gin and Mrs. Weasley quite vehemently demanded that you be there. Apparently, you have a very calming effect on people. So, see you in a bit, then," Harry said out loud to his conjured stag, put on his jumper, and promptly floo'ed over to St Mungo's to placate Neville Longbottom, whose tendency to freak out in high tension situations still hadn't completely gone away and becoming proud parents was there among the top few in the list of high tension situations.

"Harry,mate, you gotta see this. He killed Nagini without flinching, and look at him, reduced to that eleven-year-old just by the prospect of impending fatherhood," Ron said, all the while indicating Neville, who was pacing the halls of the maternity ward with an utterly confounded expression.

In due course, the father, with an earful of Hermione's and Molly's words of courage and comfort, was called into the delivery room, as the Weasley clan (honorary ones included) awaited the arrival of yet another offspring.

By the way, if you are wondering, as to what exactly happened to Draco, and his "acceptance", well, it went in the most clichéd way possible. If you ask anybody who remembers the whole evening on excruciating details, it was probably stiff and awkward and pretty much a success. Hey! In their defence, it was six years back.  
In the meantime, Ron and Hermione got married; quite obviously, Harry was the best man, and yes, there were a few fun hiccups, courtesy of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.  
Dorin and Charlie got married, and quite obviously, Harry and Draco were the loudest to cheer. Dorin has now taken it on himself to train Draco about how to impress and entertain the Weasley clan, not that Draco needs any tutoring.  
George and Angelina are now in a relationship, and, due to their and Ron's joint efforts, they have now introduced a whole new line of Quidditch related minor pranks, which guarantees that there will be no effect on the outcome of the match in question. By the way, the Gwyenth Jones, was furious when she figured out on an especially chilly day, that the bludger had been charmed with a special powder not to move an inch once released. She even firecalled Ginny and Angelina later that day to inform them that, if they kept up with their antics, as the coach of harpies,she would be forced to make them come out for practice every single damn day.

Percy and Audrey celebrated an anniversary just last week, and Percy is far less of a prat now, though he still has the strange habit of boasting about his badges while at Hogwarts.  
Fleur and Bill couldn't have been happier, and it is really quite a task to describe their baby daughter, Victoire, 'cause, c'mon, look at those genes. Fleur now can speak English fluently, and is very proud of that fact, though.

Teddy has already started to showcase his inherited metamorphmagus skills and holds both his godfather and cousin in the highest regards. Moreover, when he stays over with them, his bedtime is forgotten as is his limit for chocolate intake, and that works greatly in favour of Harry and Draco.

And Ginny Weasley found love in the new Herbology professor of Hogwarts, and yes, she now thanks Harry with all her heart. It was just a few days back when we saw Draco running to buy liquid liquorice for her. Firstly, because nobody messes with an eight months pregnant lady, and apparently, he was asked most sweetly, to "be a darling" and "satiate" her "cravings for some liquid liquorice".

Molly, after an extremely emotional evening of tears and tea, adopted Draco into her ever expanding family, and "Oh, Harry, how could I not see this?", "Oh, Harry dearest, I am so happy for you.", "Draco, dear, you are far too thin to be well nourished. Come here, and eat the crepe this instant," were heard often.  
Draco now even has a place of honour beside Harry on the Family tapestry that Harry had made and gifted Molly on one particular Christmas.  
Arthur had said a sincere, "You'll be my boy, no matter what, Harry. And, Draco, welcome to the family. Oh, Harry, my boy, I had been meaning to ask you about this, DVD player thing..." and had promptly gone back to examining said DVD player.

As for Harry and Draco, they completed their training with flying colours, and they now have an office with Aurors H. J. Potter and D. A. Malfoy proudly embossed on it. Having a shared private office has various other advantages though. They also moved in together, and in a major show of commitment, are planning to adopt a dog.  
That's pretty much it, but fret not. An owl will be dispatched the moment they announce their marriage or babies.


End file.
